Three Point Shot
by Seshat0120
Summary: A basketball game goes awry resulting in a freak accident.


**Three-Point Shot**

_by Seshat0120_

_Disclaimer: Quantum Leap and all related characters are owned by Belisarius Productions and Universal. No profit has been made off of the writing or distribution of this piece of fiction._

A basketball court in the middle of the desert? Who would have thought of it? Sam Beckett, that's who. He'd insisted that the project should include an outdoor basketball court. It seemed he'd never gotten playing the game out of his blood.

At first, Al had thought the court was one of Sam's crazier ideas. He just couldn't see who'd want to go outside in the blazing desert heat or the frigid cold to play basketball. Sam had insisted that they'd all need a reason to go outside from time to time and a pick-up game of basketball would be the perfect choice.

Now, several years into the project, Al was seeing the benefit of the court. Sometimes the only way to entice Sam to leave his lab was to get him to come topside for a quick game of one on one or, in the case of the game Al was currently watching, two on two.

Three of the off-duty security officers had joined Sam for quick game. They'd offered to go get one of their friends so that Al could play as well, but he'd declined choosing instead to watch the game. In Al's estimation, it was just too damned hot to run around chasing a rubber ball.

Sam was in his element playing and it was the first time in a couple of weeks that Al could remember seeing him laughing and just relaxing. It didn't hurt that Sam and his partner, Marty, were easily winning the game. They were just 3 points away from the winning 21. Sam got the ball just outside the key, dodged one of the other team's players and jumped up shooting the ball toward the net.

Al watched the progress of the ball through the air as it sailed toward the net to score the three points needed to win the game. He didn't see the ball swish through the net. Instead, a noise like a dry twig snapping followed by a short, bit-off scream brought his attention back to Sam who crumpled on the ground grasping his right ankle and grimacing.

Before the other players on the court could reach Sam, Al was already there crouching down next him. "Sam? What happened? Where'd you hurt yourself?" He had a good idea it was Sam's ankle but the question just popped out of his mouth.

"Ankle," Sam pushed out through the pain. "I came down funny on it. I think I broke it. God, it hurts."

"Yeah, I heard something snap," Al informed Sam. He grimaced at the memory of the sound. "Can I see it?" He didn't wait for Sam to give permission. Instead, he gently pulled Sam's hands from the injured limb to get a look at it but realized that with Sam's sneaker and sock on, he couldn't really see anything.

"Sam, I need to take your sneaker off," he explained to the injured man. "I'm going to be as gentle as I can, ok."

Sam nodded slightly. "Yeah, just do it." His voice had a breathy quality to it as he tried to hold back the pain.

As gently as he could, Al untied Sam's sneaker and slipped it off his foot followed by the sock. He tried to not to hear the small grunts of pain that came from Sam no matter how careful he was. The joint was already starting to bruise and swell. "Marty," Al said looking up to one of the other men gathered around Sam, "go inside and get a first aid kit and some ice. We need to keep the swelling down and get this splinted."

Once the man had taken off at a jog to do what he'd been asked, Al pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and threw it at one of the men. "Get Dr. Beckett's Jeep and bring it as close as you can to us here." The man nodded quickly to Al and sprinted in the direction of the parked cars.

"Do you need me to do anything, Sir," the other man asked.

Al was just about to wave him off when Sam said something too soft for Al to hear. "What did you say, Sam?" he asked.

"'M thirsty," Sam repeated.

Before Al could even ask, the third man ran over to where they'd left their water bottles, retrieved one, and brought it back to Al.

"Thanks," Al said taking it from the man's outstretched hand. "Go in and see what's taking Marty so long to get out here with the ice." He uncapped the water bottle and held it to Sam's mouth so he could drink.

Once Sam had drunk his fill, he lay back down on the hot ground. Al took off the jacket he had on and, not caring what would happen to the heavy silken material, balled it up and put it under Sam's head as a pillow.

"You just lie still and we're gonna get you fixed up and to the hospital."

"So stupid," Sam complained. "I can't believe I did this."

"It was an accident," Al reminded him.

"A stupid accident," Sam clarified.

Al laughed at the way Sam made the statement. "Aren't most accidents?"

Marty arrived back at that moment with a first aid kit in hand and handed it to Al.

"Where's the ice?' Al asked taking the kit from Marty and opening it.

"There's an icepack in there," Marty explained as he squatted down on the opposite side of Sam from Al.

Al flipped open the case and started pushing items aside in it until he found the icepack. He glanced quickly at the instructions to use it before bending it in half to activate it. Carefully, he laid it across Sam's ankle. It didn't matter how careful he was, though, there was still a hiss of pain from Sam as soon as the weight of the icepack settled down on his injured ankle. "Sorry, Sam," Al quickly apologized.

"S'all right," Sam reassured him through gritted teeth.

Al started rifling through the contents of the first aid kit again then pushed it away disgustedly. 'There's nothing in here to split his ankle with," he said looking up to Marty. "We need to get something on that ankle to immobilize it."

Marty was just about to get up to go look for something to use as a splint when Sam asked to see the first aid kit. He levered himself up to rifle through the contents and pulled a package out and handed it over to Al. "Here, use this."

Al looked at the package dubiously, unsure how it could possibly be used to splint Sam's ankle.

"It's an inflatable splint," Sam explained seeing the look on Al's face. "You slip it on over my foot and inflate it. It'll work just like a hard splint."

"You sure?" Al asked still unsure that the content of the package would work.

Sam nodded and lay back down with the balled up jacket under his head.

With Sam giving directions, Al maneuvered the splint onto his ankle and inflated it. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to get it in place without having to move Sam's ankle and causing the younger man even more pain. Again, he tried his best not to hear the exclamations of pain that came from Sam and kept mumbling his apologies that he was the cause of the pain.

Just as Al finished getting the splint in place, the man he'd sent to get the car came back. "It's right over there, Sir."

Al briefly glanced to where Sam's jeep was now idling next to the basketball court. "Ok, thanks. You ready to try moving to the car," he asked Sam looking back down at him. He noticed that in the time since Sam had fallen, he'd grown progressively paler."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam forced out of clenched teeth. There was no doubt moving from where he was lying on the court to the car was going to be more than just painful. Right now, he'd give just about anything for shot of morphine or anything that would dull the searing pain in his ankle.

Al helped Sam up into a seated position and wrapped his right arm around his shoulders. He gestured for Marty to do the same thing on Sam's left side. "Ok, on the count three we're gonna get you up but don't put any weight on your right ankle."

"Don't worry," Sam assured. "That's the last thing I was going to try doing."

Al got as far as the count of one before a woman's voice called out for them to stop. He looked over in the direction the voice came from and saw Verbena Beeks running out to them. She came to a stop by Sam's side and dropped down to her knees.

"Joe told me what happened," she said referring to the security guard who hadn't come back outside. She opened the black medical bag she was carrying and pulled out a small vial and hypodermic and laid them on the ground before moving over to inspect the splint that had been put on Sam's ankle. She could see the bruising through the clear material. "How'd this happen?"

"It's kind of embarrassing," Sam began to explain blushing slightly. "I jumped up to shoot the ball and when I came down I just landed awkwardly. My ankle rolled and I felt something snap."

"I heard it," Al interrupted to say.

Verbena threw a quick glance in Al's direction grimacing slightly. She'd had the misfortune of hearing a bone break before and knew it wasn't a very pretty sound. Then again, it was probably better to just hear than to feel it as well. "Judging by the amount of bruising on the outside of your ankle, I'd say it's your lateral malleolus."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Sam agreed.

"The lateral wha?" Al asked clearly confused. "Can you speak in English for the rest of us schlubs here?"

Sam smiled slightly at Al and explained. "The lateral malleolus is the end of the fibula. It's that sort of bony knob on the outside of your ankle."

It didn't really clarify the injury any more for Al but at least now the words Sam and Verbena had used made more sense. "So is that better or worse than if you broke it somewhere else?"

"It all depends on how clean the break is," Verbena explained. "If it's a nice clean break and the ends of the bone are close together it could be just a matter of casting it."

"And if it's not," Al prompted.

Sam grimaced distastefully at the thought. "If it's not a clean break then it'll probably need to be repaired surgically with a plate and screws." He let out a sigh. "Like I'm not already carrying enough hardware around from when I broke my leg a couple of years ago." He sucked in a painful breath grabbing tightly onto Al's arm as another burst of pain shot up his leg. "Damn it, it hurts like a sunovabitch."

At Sam's expression of pain, Verbena picked up the vial and hypodermic from where she'd put them down. "I have just what the doctor ordered," she told him as she filled the hypodermic.

Sam looked longing at the hypo. "Tell me that that's morphine and I just might marry you."

"It is morphine, but I won't hold you to the proposal," Verbena laughed. Pulling out an alcohol pad, she wiped down a spot on Sam's thigh and plunged the needle into it. "Ok, that should start working in a couple of minutes," she said once she'd pulled the needle out. She capped it, put it into a plastic bag, and then put the bag and the remainder of the vial into her medical bag. "I just gave you enough to take the edge off. They're going to want to know your pain response when you get to the hospital."

They waited for a few minutes until Sam indicated that the morphine had started to work and was dulling the pain in his ankle. Once the pain was under control, Al, with Marty's assistance, got Sam up off the ground and over to the back seat of the car. Verbena followed along behind them.

While Marty and Al helped Sam into the backseat where he could stretch out his leg, Verbena pulled open the driver's door getting in. "What do you think you're doing?" Al asked when he saw her.

Verbena turned a steady gaze on Al that clearly said she wouldn't brook any argument from him. "I'm driving, that's what, I'm doing. If you drive you're going to go speeding up the highway and Sam might have more than just a broken ankle to worry about."

Al glared right back at her. "Just what are you insinuating, Dr. Beeks?"

"I think she's saying you're a bad driver," Sam pointed out from his place in the car. A lopsided smile was plastered across his face and his eyes didn't quite seem to be focusing. "You know," he continued as if just figuring out the answer to a question he'd been wondering about for a long time, "I think she's right. You always drive fast…too fast and that's nooooo good." Sam's voice had become slightly slurred and had taken on a singsong quality.

Al shot a quick look at Verbena. "I thought you said you were only giving him enough to take the edge off," he accused.

"I did." She looked critically at Sam who looked right back at her and waved. "He must be more susceptible to the morphine than I thought. At least he shouldn't feel much on the ride. Why don't you get back there with him and support his ankle so it doesn't bounce around much on the ride."

Al wasn't happy with the plan but Verbena didn't look very likely to yield her place as the driver. Lifting Sam's injured ankle carefully from the seat, Al slid into the Jeep and rested the ankle in his lap where he could keep it steady during the ride. Marty came around to close the door as soon as Al was in.

"Giddy up," Sam said with a distinct giggle as soon as all the doors were closed causing Verbena to look back over the seat at him in amazement. She'd never seen the physicist quite so out of control. Shock and amusement vied for dominance on her face.

"It's a Jeep, Sam, it's not a horse," Al pointed out. In the past, he'd had the opportunity to see Sam after he'd been given heavy-duty painkillers. He'd long since gone past the point of being amused at the way it affected the younger man. Although, when he thought about it, usually Sam just conked out. In those cases, Al reasoned, it might have had something to do with the fact that Sam was also ill at the time.

"Oh, ok, Al."

Verbena shook her head once, turned around to the front of vehicle, and started to slowly drive back to the roadway. Once she'd reached it, she turned in the direction of Socorro and sped the car up. She tried to bite back a laugh when Sam broke out into a very off-key rendition of "Hound Dog".

%%%%%%%%%%

The drive to the hospital from the project took just over an hour. Unfortunately for Sam, the effects of the morphine started to wear off when they were just about halfway there. Verbena had been right when she said she'd given him a very low dosage. Ten minutes out from the hospital Sam was white-faced and biting his bottom lip as he fought the pain radiating through his ankle. No matter how much Verbena tried to miss the potholes in the road and no matter how much Al tried to keep his leg and ankle steady, there was no way to save him from all of the discomfort.

When the Jeep finally pulled up at the emergency room entrance, Sam let out a breath knowing that the torture of the ride was finally over. Verbena ordered Sam to stay put in the Jeep while she disappeared inside the hospital to get a wheelchair. When she came back with it, Al helped Sam from the backseat of the Jeep and into it.

They ended up waiting nearly two hours in the waiting room before Sam was taken back to be examined. A probable broken ankle couldn't contend with a motor vehicle accident or a heart attack.

After the first hour, Al was ready to bodily get a doctor to come out and check on Sam. It was only Sam's hand on his arm that stopped him from stomping off. Sam explained the concept of triage and that they'd simply have to wait until the more serious cases were taken care of. Al understood the concept of triage, he just didn't approve of it when it meant his friend was sitting in pain.

Verbena eventually reached a point where she couldn't sit silently and watch Al pace back and forth anymore. She was dangerously close to say something to him that would, most likely, just pique his ire. Instead, she excused herself to go down to the cafeteria and get them all some coffee. Shortly after she left, Sam was finally taken back to be examined.

It was another interminable wait for Al until he finally knew what was happening with Sam. Verbena, having returned with the coffee, did her best to try to keep him calm. "Al, c'mon and sit down. It's only his ankle. Trust me; he's going to be fine."

Al stopped in his pacing long enough to answer her. "Nothing's ever simple with this kid, 'Bena. Sure, it might start out as 'just his ankle' but knowing his luck, it's going to turn out to be something worse. Look at when he had the surgery to repair his shoulder. He ended up with an infection in the surgical site. Or how about that car accident? Look how sick he got then."

"Al, those were exceptions," Verbena tried to placate. "Do you know how rare it is to get an infection in a surgical site? And when that car hit him, the chances of him coming down with pneumonia as bad as he did were pretty high. He'd just had that bout of bronchitis and his lung was punctured. This time it's just a break. That's all. There's nothing sinister going on."

Al wasn't to be mollified, though, and kept pacing the length of the waiting room. Verbena eventually gave up trying to get him to sit and did her best to ignore the constant pacing. At least the waiting room had emptied out.

Finally, a doctor came out to them. As soon as he stepped foot into the waiting room Al ran over and accosted him. "How's Sam? Is he ok? Does he need surgery? Is it serious?" He hit the doctor with such a barrage of questions that the poor man couldn't get out a word in answer.

Verbena grabbed at Al's arm pulling him back from the doctor. "Al, give the man room to breath and he'll tell you everything you need to know."

Al did back off a few steps from the doctor and clamped his mouth shut until the doctor told them what was happening.

The doctor threw Verbena a grateful glance. "I take it you're here with Mr. Beckett?" he asked needlessly. Impatiently, Al nodded in answer to the question. "I'm Dr. Davidson. I've been treating Mr. Beckett."

Al no longer possessed the patience to deal with pleasantries. "How is he?"

The doctor chuckled softly at Al's impatience. "He's going to be just fine, Sir. As a matter of fact, a nurse should be bringing him out shortly. It's was a simple, clean break and the bones were in good alignment."

"That's good, right?" Al questioned. "I mean, he won't need surgery or anything."

"No, he won't. He will be in a cast for 6-8 weeks depending on how quickly the bone knits and after that he'll most likely need some physical therapy for it but, otherwise, he should make a complete recovery."

Al seemed to sag just a little in relief at the doctor's words. "That's good, that's real good. He's usually not that lucky."

"I'd guess judging by his medical records," Dr. Davidson agreed. "He was just getting dressed and then he should be out. Is there any other questions you have?"

Al shook his head and started to step back but Verbena had one. "Are you giving him any painkillers? He's reacted adversely to Vicodin in the past."

"I saw that notation in his records," Dr. Davidson responded. "I'm giving him a prescription for Tylenol 3 but he should only take it if he needs it which will most likely be for the next day or two. He shouldn't be feeling very much pain for the next couple of hours until what I've given him here wears off."

As the doctor finished speaking, a nurse came out of the treatment area pushing Sam in a wheelchair. A brand new, bright white cast stretched from mid-way below his knee to his toes and he had a pair of crutches across his lap. "I'm ready to go home," he happily announced with a broad smile. "You wanna sign my cast 'Bena?"

Al and Verbena as well as Dr. Davidson and the nurse chuckled at Sam's breezy announcements. "He seems to have a rather…interesting response to painkillers," Dr. Davidson commented.

"Yeah," Al agreed. "If you gave him enough, he should be conking out soon."

Again the doctor laughed. "Well, you might want to get him home soon." He extended his hand to Sam who took it. "Good luck, Mr. Beckett. Call the office tomorrow morning to set up a follow-up appointment so we can make sure everything is going well."

"Okie dokie, Doc," Sam smilingly agreed.

Dr. Davidson laughed before going back to the treatment area.

After the doctor left, Sam tried to lever himself up from the wheelchair to use the crutches. Al and the nurse both grabbed a hold of him pushing him to sit back down. "What?" he asked not understanding their reaction. "I know how to walk with these. I had to do it when I broke my leg, remember, Al?"

"Yeah, I remember but how about if we wait until you're not flying high."

Sam shrugged and smiled up at Al. "Okie dokie," he again responded.

Al shook his head at Sam's responses. "What the hell did they give you?"

Verbena did her best to bury her own amusement at the situation. "I'll go bring the car up to the door," she said pulling the keys from her pocket.

Al took over the wheelchair from the nurse and pushed Sam out the door following Verbena. The nurse followed closely behind. They waited at the curb for Verbena to pull the car around. Once they had stopped moving, Sam reached up grabbing Al's sleeve and pulling at it until Al bent down. "I think 'Bena's a really good doctor," Sam announced quite seriously in what, Al was sure, Sam thought was a whisper.

Al patted the hand still grabbing onto his sleeve and straightened up. "Yeah, she's a good doctor," he agreed and hid a smirk behind his hand.

"She's a better driver, too," Sam added crossing his arms over his chest.

Verbena drove up before Al could formulate a reply, though he did glare at Sam. Between Al, Verbena and the nurse they managed to load Sam into the backseat of the Jeep without anyone getting hurt. Again, Al had to wonder just what Sam had been given.

Once again, Verbena took the wheel and Al sat in the backseat with Sam to keep him company and try to keep his ankle steady during the ride. They made a quick stop off at the pharmacy to get Sam's prescription filled and then they were back on the road heading to the project.

%%%%%%%%%%

It was late night or, more to the point, early morning. Sam didn't know how he knew it since there were no windows to the outside world in quarters at the project but he just did. Rolling over he peered at the clock by the side of his bed – 3:18 am. It was definitely early morning – far too early to be awake. Given his druthers, he would still be soundly asleep. The throbbing pain in his ankle, though, had decided otherwise.

He had to get up and find the bottle of painkillers he'd been given. That was his only option if he were ever going to go back to sleep. He vaguely remembered Al putting it down on the desk in the living room. Most of the trip home from hospital and getting back to the project were pretty vague and foggy for him. Whatever he'd been given for pain in the emergency room had really done a number on him.

He had a half-formed memory of Al and Verbena helping him from the Jeep and down to his quarters. After that, the only other memory he had to speak of was Al helping him to get changed and into bed and then it was lights out. Thankfully, he did clearly remember his time in the emergency room right up until he'd been given something for pain so his ankle could be set and put in a cast. It was a clean break and he wouldn't need surgery to repair it. Six to eight weeks in the cast and then he'd be good as new. Well, he'd be good as new after a couple of PT sessions.

Right now, though, that seemed like a lifetime away as another bolt of pain shot through his ankle. He'd have to get up and find get the painkillers. Throwing back the covers, he swung his legs over the side of the bed being careful to not let the cast hit the floor hard. Spotting his crutches leaning against the wall near the bed, he grabbed them and levered himself up. Unlike when his leg had been broken after the car hit him, this time he had to walk without putting weight on his injured ankle. After a couple of steps he realized how much harder that was than when he could put some weight on his broken leg.

He had just about reached the door to the living room when it was pulled open startling him. "Sam? You ok?" the shape silhouetted in the door asked.

"Al? That you?" Sam asked once he caught his breath.

"Yeah, it's me? Who do you think it is? The Easter Bunny? What are you doing out of bed?"

"What am I doing out of…what are you doing in my quarters? These are my quarters, aren't they?" Sam suddenly realized that the state he'd been in when they got back from the hospital they could have taken him to anyone's quarters. For all he knew he could be in Verbena's or Gooshie's. He looked around the darkened bedroom. It looked like his.

"Yeah, these are your quarters. I decided to sleep on your couch tonight if you needed something."

"Shoulda known," Sam murmured. This wasn't the first night Al had slept on his couch to be close by and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. To be fair, he'd done the same thing himself on occasion. He didn't even bother raising the argument that Al didn't have to stay with him. From past experience, he knew that Al would just counter back that he hadn't stayed because he had to but because he wanted to.

For reasons Sam had never been able to figure out, Al felt some kind of responsibility for him. It gave him a warm feeling to know there was someone out there who cared about his well-being. Besides, truth be told, he felt the same way about Al. He hadn't forgotten the time when Al, after he'd had just a bit too much to drink, had confided in Sam that Sam was the only family he had. "You're the son I never had…or maybe it's the brother," Al had told him that night in a drunken slur.

Though the man had been quite drunk at the time, Sam had known there was a lot of truth in the words Al was speaking. Sam had just never bothered to tell Al that often times he felt that the older man filled the void that had been left in his life when first his brother Tom and then his father had died. He also made damned sure that Al never caught wind of the fact that half the project called him "Papa Bear" behind his back.

"Sam, did you need something?" he heard Al say snapping him from his reverie.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just going to get the painkillers the doctor gave me. My ankle's starting to get really sore."

"Well, you go on back to bed," Al said turning him around and giving him a small shove in the small of his back. "I'll bring them in to you."

Sam did as Al asked and climbed back into bed and beneath the blankets. Truthfully, he was glad the older man was there and he wouldn't have to go all the way out to the living room. He'd just snapped on the small light by the bed when Al came back into the room with the bottle of painkillers and a glass of water. He handed the bottle to Sam and put the water down on the bedside table.

Sam popped open the top and shook one of the tablets into his hand and swallowed it with a mouthful of water. When he was done, Al took back the glass putting it on the table again. "You need anything else?" he asked.

"No, I'm all set," Sam replied. He lay down and got himself as comfortable as he could considering it was hard to maneuver his casted leg. Once he settled down, Al smoothed the blanket over him, switched off the light, and started out the door.

"Al?" Sam said calling him back. He could already feel sleep starting to tug at him again but he wanted to say what was on his mind before he forgot.

Al turned back from the door coming to stand by the bed again. "Yeah, Sam, what's up?"

"I just wanted to thank you."

"Hey, it's just a pill and some water, that's no problem."

"No, it's not just for that. For everything. For believing in me and for being here whenever I need you. I know I probably don't say thank you as often as I should and…well…I just wanted you to know." Sam strained to see Al's expression in the dim light but all he could see was the silhouette by his bed but he heard the man clear his throat before speaking.

"It's nothing you haven't done for me, Kid. I'd say we're about even." Al again bent to smooth out the blanket. "You go on back to sleep now."

Obediently, Sam closed his eyes and soon started to drift off to sleep. He never heard Al leave his room or heard him stop in the doorway and look back at him. He certainly didn't hear the older man softly whisper, "Besides, it's what Papa Bear's supposed to do."

_Three Point Shot _11 J.A. Moniz


End file.
